Handfast
by VGWrighte
Summary: Turner family story set around the Season 4 Christmas Special. Shelagh gets a letter from Scotland. Humor. Family. Adorableness.
1. The Letter

Handfast

Chapter One: The Letter

Based upon Call The Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth and developed by Heidi Thomas

Author's Note: The impetus of this story was Jeannie MacPherson, played by Hermione Baddeley, in Marriage on the Rocks. If you haven't seen Marriage on the Rocks, it's a delightful film with Frank Sinatra, Deborah Kerr, and Dean Martin, and I highly recommend it. A minor subplot is that Deborah Kerr's mother doesn't acknowledge the (20 year) marriage between Kerr and Sinatra, and continues to insist that her daughter is living in sin and her grandchildren have no father.

\- - The MG, December 1959 - -

It was the lull between Christmas and New Year's Day. As always, babies were still being born, the common cold was sweeping through the tenements, and both Angela and Tim were growing every day, but there was definitely a joyful Quiet. And Patrick savored it.

Now at that particular moment, Tim was excitedly chattering about what he and his friends had been up to all day. His nose and ears were red, but it looked as if they had kept themselves active, and he wasn't cold. It was chilly out, he expected Shelagh to have warm cups of tea prepared for the both of them.

Tim barely waited for the car to be in park before jumping out, "I'll get the post!" he said, rushing towards the box. He was inside the flat, door wide open, before Patrick retrieved his bag from the boot.

Patrick shook his head at his son and followed him in. Tim had already doffed his coat and left it haphazardly by the door. Patrick patiently hung it up properly before removing his own coat, scarf, and hat.

"We got someone else's letter," Tim said from the kitchen. "She spells her name like you do, Mum." Patrick followed his son into the kitchen to find Shelagh, expectantly, pouring 3 cups of tea. He glanced through the hatch to see Angela in the Moses basket in the living room. "Ms. Shelagh MacPherson."

Patrick didn't fail to notice his wife start, spine going straight. He looked over Tim's shoulder. "It's our address," he said. Brow furrowed, he looked at Shelagh, who had finish pouring their tea. "Wasn't your mother's maiden name MacPherson?"

Shelagh was frowning. "It was."

"So, it's for you?" Timothy asked, holding out the letter.

Patrick regarded his wife carefully as she took the letter, a scowl developing on her face. She looked at the face of the letter for a few moments, before turning it over and releasing a large sigh. He craned his neck to read the Sender. "Who's The MacPherson?"

"My cousin Archie," she muttered in annoyance. He could tell by her tone that she was not pleased at all.

"Your cousin's first name is 'The'?" Timothy asked.

Shelagh glanced at him in exasperation. "Not precisely. He is simply the Patriarch of the Clan."

Had she been in a better mood, Patrick may have made a comment about her being related to the Laird, but he saw the writing on the wall.

"What does it say?" Timothy asked.

Shelagh retrieved a knife from the counter and slit the letter open. She pulled it out and groaned. "Goodness gracious."

Again, Patrick craned his neck to see the letter. "Is that Gaelic? I didn't know you spoke Gaelic."

"I don't. My mother taught Seamus and I few words when we were small, but we never spoke it after she died. Not even to the MacPhersons."

"You can't read it? What are you going to do with it?" Timothy asked.

Shelagh sighed. "I guess I have to find someone who does speak it. Speak and read Gaelic."

At this point, Tim abruptly lost interest and left the room; but not before taking a sip of tea and snatching a biscuit from the tin.

Patrick watched him go with a smirk. Once out of sight, Patrick turned back towards his wife, who was regarding the letter carefully. He waited expectantly.

"I should've expected this," she said, "after sending a Christmas card home."

"Expected what?"

"I don't know, but I'm relatively sure we won't like it."

"Is there some family history here?"

Shelagh took a deep breath and nodded. Patrick picked up both tea cups and motioned with his head towards the living room. Shelagh heeded the signal and stepped into the living room. She peaked at Angela before settling on the sofa and accepting a cup and saucer. Patrick sat in the armchair.

"Where to start?" she asked rhetorically. She paused a beat and then continued. "The MacPhersons are Highlanders and Catholics." She paused again, almost as if she didn't need to continue. Almost as if that explained the entire situation. "My mother met my father when he went to Inverness for Sheep Shearing."

Patrick bit his tongue and hid his smirk behind his teacup. Sometimes Shelagh was quite the country bumpkin.

"My father being Anglican, and my grandfather being Catholic, Grandfather strictly forbade the union. But, my mother was stubborn and she converted to the Church of England and married my father. As they were not married by a Catholic priest, the MacPhersons didn't consider them properly married, but handfast."

"Isn't that a temporary marriage?" he asked.

Shelagh nodded. "Of sorts. After a year and a day, Grandfather went to my father to retrieve my mother. My mother was heavily pregnant at the time, and they both refused to have another wedding. Of course, this angered the MacPhersons, as - in their eyes - the terms of the handfast were up, and the marriage was dissolved. They disowned my mother and never acknowledged her marriage to my father. They considered Seamus and I illegitimate.

"After my mother died, Auntie Jeannie - Archie's mother, and the wife of The MacPherson at that time - reached out an olive branch. Now, that olive branch had its thorns, but we did start receiving birthday and Christmas cards; which tapered off during the war.

"Seamus' funeral was civil, though I started getting regular letters describing the eligible bachelors of the Highlands. She did not take my moving to London well, though it seems she finally forgave me when I entered the religious life, Anglican though it was."

Shelagh fell silent, shaking her head, looking at the letter.

"What do you think this is about?"

She met his gaze. "I don't know, but we're not going to like it."

\- - The Surgery, The Next Day - -

"I knew we weren't going to like it!" Shelagh stormed into his office mid-afternoon.

She had gone out after lunch to meet with Granny McGowen, a transplant from Skye of about eighty-five, she moved for the temperate climate and lived with her grandson. Young Mrs. McGowen often took her out and about, including to the Ante-Natal clinic. They had hoped she spoke and read Gaelic, apparently she did.

Shelagh dropped the letter on his desk, as if he would pick it up and read it. She dropped her handbag in the chair and draped her coat over the back.

"We weren't married in the Catholic Church, so they're considering us handfast. The Clan will be 'round in a few weeks to determine your suitability as a husband."

"My what!?"

"Highlanders," Shelagh muttered under her breath, collapsing into the chair.

"What if they don't find me suitable?" Shelagh didn't answer immediately. "Steal you and our illegitimate children back to Clan lands?"

"Patrick," she clearly didn't find his comment amusing.

He raised his hands in self-defense. "You're the one who's making it sound like the Clan is going to march in in full regalia with Claymores and bagpipes."

"I think they'll leave the bagpipes at home."

"But not the Claymores?"

"Patrick!" He was really trying her patience.

He took a breath and lowered his voice. "Why would they reach out after all these years if not to be civil? What could be gained of traveling all the way from Inverness?"

She pursed her lips, considering the question. "You're probably right," she admitted.

Patrick stood, rounded his desk and leaned against the corner, taking her hand in his. "And if I'm not, we'll barricade ourselves in Nonnatus House with the Cubs and Civil Defense Volunteers as our garrison." He smirked.

She met his gaze and smirked back. "At least they won't be here for a few weeks. That allows us time to prepare ourselves."

"Do I need to brush up on my shinty?"

Shelagh stood and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Maybe just your caber tossing."

\- - End Chapter One - -


	2. The In-Laws

Handfast

Chapter Two: The In-Laws

Based upon Call The Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth and developed by Heidi Thomas

\- - The MG, January 1960 - -

Shelagh had been cooking and cleaning for two days. Not to imply that she didn't keep a tidy house and keep him and Tim out-growing their trousers (Patrick in the waist direction, Timothy in the ankles direction), but she had been a bit fanatic in recent days.

Unsure of how many relatives were coming, she had been baking bannocks non-stop, stocked up on porridge, and made enough Cullen Skink to feed an army. But not a single Scotch Egg. When he asked for them she glared at him. He decided not to press his luck, lest she try her hand at haggis.

Patrick felt the overwhelming urge to dawdle on the way home. The MacPhersons were expected that afternoon. However, he knew he couldn't abandon his family, so he continued towards the surgery to finish some paperwork prior to heading home and supporting Shelagh.

He noticed them as he pulled up to the surgery. How could he not? They weren't in full regalia, but each one of them was wearing a tartan.

Two of the three men stood close to each other with the younger of the two woman, one with an arm around her shoulders. Both men were wearing large plaids, of what Patrick assumed was the hunting tartan due to their subdued colors, wrapped around their shoulders and draped down to their knees, stone-colored trouser clad legs extending to solid boots. The young woman was wearing a shawl of the same subdued tartan.

Standing a few feet away was a tall man and an older woman. The man wore a Scottish cap of the primary tartan and a dark gray, wool boat cloak. The older woman wore an arisaid of the primary tartan, it's bright red and deep blue could've been seen from a mile away. Two miles, on a clear day.

He parked the MG, took a deep breath to fortify himself, and exited the vehicle. He retrieved his medical bag and approached the group. They immediately noticed him approaching them. Sticking out like a sore thumb as they were, they were likely accustomed to people giving them a wide berth.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them. "I am Doctor Turner. You must be the MacPhersons."

The tall man adjusted his footing to be square with Patrick and rolled his shoulders back, they were of approximate equal height. "Aye, we are. Yer kin." He extended his hand, pushing his cloak back to revealing that the inner lining was bright tartan as well. "Arch."

Patrick was momentarily startled by the interior of the jacket, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. "Patrick," he clasped his new In-Law's hand.

Archie released his hand and gestured to the others. Patrick shook their hands as they were introduced. "My brother Rodric. My sister Aileen and her husband Kier." Archie then turned to the older woman, "And my mother-"

Before he could finish, his mother cut him off. "Auntie Jeannie," she thrust out her hand and gave Patrick a startlingly firm handshake.

"It's very nice to meet all of you. Would you like to follow me inside for a few moments. I just have a few things to attend to before I can take you by the flat."

Archie waved him off. "We'll wait here."

The smile started to fade from Patrick's face, but he managed to maintain it. "Just give me a moment, then." He moved past them and into the surgery.

Sister Julienne was sitting at the reception table. Patrick leaned against the table and lowered his voice, "Call the flat. They're here."

Sister Julienne blinked. After a moment she made the connection. "Oh! How many?"

"Five."

Patrick rushed to his office.

"Not enough to start a war with," she called after him.

Not a war, but a family feud, certainly.

\- - The Flat - -

Patrick felt conspicuous walking up to his own home with 5 extremely conspicuous Scots in tow. As they approached the front door, it opened, revealing Timothy with Angela in his arms. A distraction ploy from his wife?

"Hi Dad. Guests for dinner?"

Patrick frowned a warning at his son, now was not the time for his antics. "Tim, this is your Auntie Jeannie, and Cousins Rodric, Aileen, Kier, and Arch."

Timothy smiled at them. "Hallo, Cousins," he greeted them.

Aileen rushed past him and reached for Angela. "Oh! What a lovely bairnie."

Timothy handed over Angela, more than a little surprised.

They all loitered on the front walk for a moment before Auntie Jeannie elbowed past him to Timothy. "Come now, laddie, don't be lettin' us freeze on the doorstep."

Timothy gapped at her for a moment, but moved aside and she entered the house, followed by the others. Patrick clasped Tim on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go provide Mum reinforcements," he said under his breath.

\- - End Chapter Two - -


	3. Not Unlike Her Mother

Handfast

Chapter Three: Not Unlike Her Mother

Based upon Call The Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth and developed by Heidi Thomas

\- - The Turner Residence, That Evening - -

They had sent Timothy to bed, and the men settled outside on the front step, in spite of the cold. Archie wanted a cigarette and the smoke, they said, bothered Auntie Jeannie's lungs.

Shelagh made up three cups of tea (each with a splash of whiskey), and brought them to the sitting room. Auntie Jeannie was sitting on the sofa, gazing at a sleeping Angela in her arms. Aileen was sitting in Patrick's chair, her shawl wrapped around her. Shelagh handed out the cups and settled next to her aunt.

There was silence for a moment before Auntie Jeannie looked up at Aileen, a silent message passing between them. Shelagh pretended not to notice it.

"You've a lovely home here, Cousin," Aileen said. "And two very beautiful children."

Shelagh smiled softly. "I have been very blessed."

"Timothy is a canny lad."

"He is that." She paused, considering whether or no she should continue. She decided to, after all, they were family. "He was what first made me realize I wanted something outside the religious life."

"Bonnie, too," Aileen said.

"The spit of his father," Auntie Jeannie agreed.

Shelagh's soft smile begun to fade, she felt that a shoe was about to drop.

"It appears Doctor Turner has stamped his get well, but I do not see his face in the lass."

Shelagh met her aunt's gaze. It was soft, understanding. In the dim light, Shelagh realized how much her aunt looked like her mother. And she understood that face. Her aunt assumed the absolute worst, but Shelagh didn't feel as if her true story was all that better. Perhaps it was a vain and selfish thought. There were many whose circumstances were much worse than hers.

"We don't know who Angela's birth father is. Nor," she continued, "do we know who her birth mother is."

"The lass is adopted?" Cousin Aileen asked.

Shelagh nodded and a smile broke across her face. "She is. But she is still God's gift to us. To me."

"You've no children of your own then?" Cousin Aileen asked.

"She is mine. As is Timothy," Shelagh answered, somewhat defensively.

"Of course they are," Auntie Jeannie agreed. "But the question remains, why? Is the man not kind to ye?"

Shelagh's eyes drifted closed. She didn't want to talk about it, but she supposed she had to. "No, Patrick is most kind. And exceptionally gentle. The um . . ." her voice caught, surprising her. "The trouble is with me."

The other women waited with bated breath, trying not to be on the edge of their seats.

"I was diagnosed with tuberculosis. The treatment was quite successful, but the disease wasn't only in my lungs." She took a fortifying breath. "I have extensive scar tissue that makes conception quite impossible."

Her aunt's expression when was concerned curiosity to empathetic understanding. Auntie Jeannie handed Angela to her before pulling her into a gentle hug. Holding her baby tight to her, Shelagh rested her head on the warm, plaid covered shoulder. She felt very much like a child in that moment.

After a moment, Auntie Jeannie released her. Her tender expression replaced by a large, toothy, smile. "Yer right. God has given ye many gifts: two braw and bonnie bairns, and a good man as yer husband."

Shelagh looked up from Angela's face, smiling. "And I thank Him every day."

Their conversation turned to less consequential matters.

\- - Past Midnight, Shelagh and Patrick's bedroom - -

Shelagh woke when Patrick came into the room. She had almost fallen back asleep by the time he climbed into bed with her. She hissed at the cold he brought with him. His skin was chilled. Taking his hands, she breathed on them gently, warming them.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Quarter to one," he replied, watching her face.

Her eyes were closed as she gently rubbed his hands with her own.

"How did it go with your aunt?"

"Surprisingly well," she answered. "She was not only civil, but kind and compassionate." Shelagh must've heard him smile because she opened her eyes quizzically. "What?"

His teeth shone in the darkness of their room. "Your accent is thicker."

"Is it?" her tone rising in question.

"It is," he confirmed. Patrick rolled onto his side and leaned over her. "I like it." He kissed her. "It makes you seem . . . Unguarded."

Shelagh kissed him back and settled into his arms, maintaining hold of one of his hands. "I'm unguarded around them, but not around you?"

He smiled again and squeezed her. "Sometimes. But, other times, you're very unguarded. However, during those times, you don't speak much."

Shelagh chuckled, blushed, and buried her head in Patrick's chest. "And you wonder where Timothy gets his cheek."

\- - End Chapter Three - -


	4. Getting Past The Pretext

Handfast

Chapter Four: Getting Past the Pretext

Based upon Call The Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth and developed by Heidi Thomas

\- - The Turner Residence, The Next Morning- -

She and Aileen had made an enormous breakfast for everyone, which had been eaten at the table, at the hatch to the kitchen, and standing in various places where there was enough space to do so.

They had gone through a dozen and half eggs, most of a loaf of bread, several cups of porridge and an entire side of bacon. Timothy, who normally ate enough for a small army, seemed to be encouraged by his older male cousins.

At the moment, Aileen was being entertained by Timothy, and the men were admiring Angela. That left Shelagh and Auntie Jeannie in the kitchen, cleaning up after the whirlwind.

After a long silence, Shelagh finally mustered up the courage to bring the issue to a head. "Auntie, I appreciate your coming to visit, and meeting the children. But, I must know, why are you here? Surely not to evaluate my husband."

Auntie Jeannie finished drying the frying pan and turned to Shelagh. "You look very much like your mother. Did you know that?"

Shelagh shook her head. She had assumed she bore some kind of resemblance to her mother. She had photographs, and had - once - compared them to her own reflection. But, not, she hadn't realized how strong the resemblance was.

"You're about the age she was when she passed."

"I know." Shelagh nodded. "I thought about that often when I was being treated for tuberculosis. That I, too, may not live to see five and thirty."

"My mother died without having reconciled with your mother. I saw the pain it caused her on her death bed: to be surrounded by the entirety of her family, save one. When Aileen married a few months ago, I began to think.

"I will be a grandmother soon. And soon after that I will be an old woman. And soon after that, I will die. . . . Having never reconciled with my sister. Or her children. Seamus," she breathed his name. "He was such a bonnie lad.

"And you, Shelagh," Auntie Jeannie reached for her hands. "Had I stopped this foolishness years ago. Only the Lord knows what may have happened." She squeezed Shelagh's hands and smiled with glistening eyes. "It's time to put this foolishness behind us. Ye are my sister's daughter, and I will be grateful for all the family I have."

Shelagh sniffed and pulled her aunt into a hug. They stood for a moment, rocking each other, until Auntie Jeannie leaned back, inhaled sharply and smiled. "Enough of this blubbering. Let us finish these dishes and your son can entertain me with a grand story from his lad's club."

Shelagh laughed and turned back to the dishes. She kept glancing at her aunt out of the corner of her eye. For the first time in a very long time, Shelagh felt her mother's presence. In the room with them; with the two women closest to her.

\- - END - -


End file.
